


The Case of the Missing Cricketer

by unwillingadventurer



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 06:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17381645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwillingadventurer/pseuds/unwillingadventurer
Summary: Bunny Manders needs help and there's only one man he can turn to.





	The Case of the Missing Cricketer

Holmes and I sat together one morning in complete silence. It had been early summer and the warm weather greeted us unexpectedly after a cool spring. But whilst others basked in the blazing sunshine, taking the opportunity to venture outside, Holmes sat in his chair, staring at the wall, bored and restless, fidgeting, impatient with the lack of use for his gifted brain. He had barely noticed what day, month, season or even what year it was as his mind desperately searched for something to solve, something to do, and something to release him from the shackles of day to day tedium. We had barely conversed in the last several days. He sighed then, the fifth time he’d done so in the last ten minutes, and I looked up from my newspaper to acknowledge it though spoke not a word. Despite my sympathy for my friend’s position, I felt quite the opposite and was quite content to sit a while, read my newspaper, stare at the view of summer out of the window and wait for the marvellous breakfast prepared by Mrs. Hudson.

It was after another ten minutes that Holmes suddenly sprung from his seat like a hunting cat and then sauntered to the window to glance outside. The sunshine blazed through the glass and he shielded his eyes which had scarcely seen the sunlight in weeks. I took the sudden narrowing of his eyes to mean he could barely see from the glare but he then leaned forward in concentration and looked at something outside- something that had finally piqued his interest.

“You know, Watson,” he said with what appeared to be a creeping sense of intrigue in his voice, “I think we’re going to have a visitor after all.”

“And how do you know whoever it is you’re spying on will be coming here?”

“He’s staring up at me, right at the window. There’s a somewhat anguished expression on his face and a certain reddening of the cheeks.”

“It’s hot out there, Holmes.”

He ignored my observation. “He’s hesitant to approach. He’s almost crossed the road three times.”

“Ah, then it must be for it is indeed a common affliction of most of your clients,” I replied, re-reading the same paragraph of the newspaper article.

“Would you kindly show him in, Watson?”

“But he hasn’t knocked.”

But sure enough only moments later we heard a frantic rapping on the front door and then the sound of voices in the hall. Mrs. Hudson opened the door to the sitting room and I stood to welcome our guest, gesturing to the poor fellow to come inside before sending Mrs. Hudson away.

“Won’t you sit down?” I requested.

Holmes was suddenly seated in his armchair again and I had not even seen or heard him move across the room.

“Mr. Holmes?” the young man said as he reluctantly took a seat opposite him, removing his hat and placing it on the arm of the chair.

“I am he. And this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson. What prey is the matter and what brings you to call upon us on this fine summer’s day?”

The stranger looked sheepishly at me and then at Holmes and in the briefest moments before he spoke I took a look at his face. He was a handsome chap, in his twenties, with fair hair and wide eyes like a startled animal. His face was angelic, boyish, one of pure innocence. It was difficult not to feel sympathy even before he had shared his story.

“It’s urgent,” the man said, “I’m Beckett, Harry Beckett.”

There was an exhale of displeasure from Holmes. “Don’t waste my time or yours, young man. I see immediately from your cufflinks that your initials are H.M.”

He bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I have good reason to conceal my identity and that of my friend who I am here because of. My name is Harry Manders but friends call me Bunny.”

“I see.” Holmes clasped his hands together. “Mr. Manders you no doubt conceal yourself for there is a piece of your story you are reluctant to share? However, I require absolute truth if I am to take your case.”

“I understand. I’m here as I have nowhere else to go. You see my dearest friend, he’s…”

I waved a china cup full of tea in front of our guest, to which he was forced to stop speaking. He accepted my offer immediately and took a few sips of the beverage in a cautious manner.

“How long has your friend been missing?” Holmes asked.

“A fortnight.” There was a sudden pause as our client, Manders, looked intently at Holmes. “How did you know he was missing?”

“You keep checking into your pocket for what I gather is a photograph you wish to show me of someone. Your sense of anxiety tells me that your fears are great. You even tried to relax by visiting the Turkish baths, but to no avail.”

“How did you know I was at the baths?”

“The aroma of the Turkish rose with hints of Jasmine greeted my nostrils as soon as you entered. I’m aware that the Turkish baths on Northumberland Avenue use such a fragrance. But your reddened cheeks, your unrelaxed posture suggest it did little to ease your mind or body. You came here almost straight away as you could wait no longer for my help.”

The young man admitted defeat and he lifted his heavy shoulders. “My friend has disappeared. He’s not been in contact.”

“Is that unusual for him?” I asked, knowing I could go long periods of time without conversing with my friend but that didn’t necessarily mean there was danger involved.

“No, not exactly. He’s quite prone to vanishing at times.”

“Then how do you know he’s not simply forgotten to write?” I enquired.

“Well, I don’t for definite. But we were only going to lunch and he would always tell me if he couldn’t attend. And then he never misses the cricket. He’s playing a match tomorrow. He’s a slow bowler, the best there is. He should be on the way there by now. I with him.”

“You don’t mean A.J Raffles, do you?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied, showing me the photograph. The picture was of the both of them, standing quite happily in a summer scene upon a cricket field in striped blazers and light trousers.

I shook my head. “Raffles due to play in one day and he’s missing? What a turn of events.”

Holmes, who had been silent for several moments, murmured. “Peculiar but not altogether difficult to determine a motive here.” Holmes lit his pipe.

Through a cloud of smoke, I glanced intently at Harry Manders, the man with the innocent face, the boyish looks, the blushed cheeks and the gentlest of character. But in his large eyes there was a sudden look of tremendous guilt. He knew something I did not. There was more to this man than his innocent looks suggested.

“There’s something else?” I asked.

Holmes laughed quite spontaneously but as usual I was quite baffled by this sudden display of joviality. Manders seemed just as perplexed as I was.

“You’ll forgive my humour, Mr. Manders, but you tell me that a Mr. A.J Raffles of cricketing fame is missing and you do not think I am already aware that the motive surely must go beyond that of a game of cricket?”

“What on earth are you getting at, Holmes?” I queried.

He glanced at me momentarily. “Mr. Raffles is a jewel thief, Watson. And not just a jewel thief but the cleverest cracksman alive. Mr. Manders here is his accomplice.”

Manders spat out his tea in shock. “What?”

“A jewel thief, preposterous!” I said. “He’s a famous cricketer.”

“Really, friend Watson, do you suppose one excludes the other? Shall we not suspect all sporting heroes of mis-doings or only cricketers?”

I was stunned but judging by young Manders’ face, Holmes was correct. Manders and Raffles had been the two famous jewel thieves I’d read about in the newspapers. Holmes and I had even spoken at length about who we thought the culprits may have been to which my friend had never revealed this information. Frankly I was astonished.

“How long have you known?” asked Manders, quietly. 

“Oh, quite some time. I’ve been following the stories of the robberies and it was not difficult after a fashion to deduce who the culprits were. Scotland Yard themselves are well aware of Mr. Raffles’ guilt but it is only I who could most definitely say for certain.”

Manders bowed his head. “Are you going to tell on us?”

“I could hardly finish this case adequately if I were to turn you into the police before the investigation. I intend to find your Mr. Raffles, be it cricket or crime that has taken him.”

There was a sudden cry as Manders grabbed Holmes’ hand in desperation, falling to his knees. “Thank you. I’m so worried about him. I don’t even care what happens to me. That’s why I came. As long as he’s found alive and well, I’ll take my punishment.”

There was a strange honour amongst this thief, one which in some small way reminded me of myself. True my work was on the noble side of the law (on most occasions) but what wouldn’t I have done for my own partner Holmes? If it called for it, could I also not be driven to the depths of criminal activity? It was a very fine line between right and wrong.

“You must recount your tale, Mr. Manders,” Holmes said, “and omit nothing. Your dealings with Mr. Raffles may leave some clue to his whereabouts.”

Mr. Manders began to speak of the famous A.J Raffles and I couldn’t help notice the writer in him from the way he described him and set the scene with an artistic and poetic flourish that Holmes did not desire. After his initial description of Raffles which was very complimentary indeed, he finally spoke of the facts of the day.

…

‘Well, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, I take you back to a fortnight ago on a Monday morning when Raffles and I gathered at the Albany- his residence- and sat quite relaxed on the settee with what I thought was not a care in the world.’ 

“I think I have time for a quick scotch whiskey,” Raffles had said as he stubbed out his cigarette into the ashtray and made his way to the decanter. 

“Before you go where?” I had asked.

I hadn’t remembered him mentioning any plans.

“Before we go to lunch my dear fellow. I’m treating us to dinner at the Café Royal.”

“I say, how wonderful! I better drink up and go home and get dressed.”

“Finest suit my dear Bunny, we’re celebrating.”

I grabbed my hat. Had I forgotten some special occasion? “I say, A.J, what’s the big celebration?”

“The jewels, my dear Rabbit, our recent successes, and of course the cricket season is upon us. We are going to have the largest feast.”

‘Well, Mr. Holmes, I was in an excellent mood. I went home to Mount Street, got into my finest cream suit and walked the short distance to the restaurant. Raffles wasn’t there so I waited inside. After a while he failed to appear and I sat there like a jilted lover. My only option was to head back to the Albany to enquire after him to which I was told by the Albany porter that Raffles had indeed left for our dinner in high spirits, even telling him the restaurant name. And yet I received no note, no telephone message. He merely failed to appear. And I’ve heard no word since. Nor have his people at the Albany, his club, or his cricket team mates who expected him for a training session. Everyone is keeping the news under their hats, Mr. Holmes, but in one day when he doesn’t show up at Lords, the papers will be all over it. They’ll ask all the questions, why isn’t he there? Why didn’t he show up to the cricket and why has there been no sign of him in two weeks? That would inevitably lead to more personal questions.’

…

By the time young Harry Manders had finished talking, he was quite out of breath and so I poured him another cup of tea from the pot. I glanced over at Holmes and he had an unreadable expression painted upon his white face. 

“Have you any idea what could’ve happened to him, Mr. Holmes?” Manders asked.

Holmes pursed his lips and refused to speak until he took another puff from his pipe. “I have a few ideas I’d like to explore, Mr. Manders.”

“Yes?”

“Was there any such reason that it was decided you should meet Mr. Raffles at the restaurant rather than arrive together?”

“Not that he told me. We often met there if it was nearby.”

“I see.”

“And one more question. Was there anything he said that morning that seemed unusual, out of the ordinary that looking back might suggest something to you?”

Manders fell silent as he thought about the question. A moment later, his eyes widened. “As a matter of fact, yes. He asked me about the post, not his own but mine. He asked if I had received anything that morning and what it contained. I thought he was being darned impertinent.”

“Then on with the investigation,” Holmes shouted as he grabbed his jacket and hat from the stand.

…

 

Before we had a chance to respond we were in a carriage bound for the Albany. Upon reaching Raffles’ rooms I was in disbelief at the grandness of his residence even before we set foot in his quarters. Manders, having requested the key from the porter, let us inside and I watched as he showed us around.

“It’s exactly as he left it,” he said. “I told his daily woman to leave everything the same.”

Holmes murmured and then inspected the mantlepiece, his eyes hovering over several pieces of card stood on the shelf. “He had three upcoming social engagements for the next week.”

Manders smiled fondly. “He’s very busy during the summer, always asked to one thing or another and he never turns down an invite or an excuse for dinner and flirtations. Always manages to get me invited too. And that’s just it, he never ignores a social engagement.”

Holmes nodded and next turned his attention to the bureau and began rifling through the paperwork. I saw a glint of terror in Manders’ eye as though Holmes should unearth even more secrets which he wished to remain buried like plundered treasure in the depths of the ocean.

“I’ve looked through everything myself twice, Mr. Holmes. I couldn’t find anything.”

“That is because you were unaware of what you were looking for.”

“And I take it you are aware?” I asked. 

“Not entirely, dear Watson, but there are several obvious reasons as to Mr. Raffles disappearance. The first notion is that some scoundrel intent on him missing the cricket has taken him, perhaps a way of attaining money through winning a bet or some such. This however strikes me as the least likely. Another reasonable assumption is that one of Raffles’ recent ventures in his game of thievery has made an enemy of such a victim who simply wants revenge. I’m looking for clues that indicate any reason to suggest that Mr. Raffles himself was aware of something amiss that he concealed from his friend. A threatening note, a coded warning, a request for a meeting disguised as a note from a fair lady. Manders, you said yourself he was asking questions about the nature of your mail?”

Manders seemed momentarily hurt by the notion that his dear friend should conceal such important matters and I knew that feeling all too well for Holmes often kept me in the dark over such things. I’d learnt however over the years that this was done without any kind of malice or bad intention and I assumed it was probably the same for this pair too.

“Did Mr. Raffles and yourself commit a crime recently?” Holmes asked.

The man’s cheeks flushed and he waited a moment before he spoke. I could almost see his thoughts ticking away inside his head. Manders was so gentle of character that I was still in disbelief that he was a criminal accomplice. He simply didn’t seem the type.

“Possibly.” Manders stood up straight then and lifted his head. “But I’m afraid I can’t divulge details. I have to stay true to Raffles and I can’t tell you anything more that could incriminate him further.”

Holmes turned sharply and narrowed his eyes. “Very well. I need not such matters now. I have found something that interests me here.”

“You have?” Manders replied.

We approached Holmes by the fireplace where he now was, hunched over, grasping several small torn pieces of paper which had been burnt around the edges and fallen onto the hearth. I looked at one of the pieces and could see letters of the alphabet. 

“I believe I may be right, Mr. Manders. Your friend was indeed being threatened,” Holmes said.

Mr. Manders sighed and slumped onto the nearest armchair, resting his head into his now trembling hands. I patted his arm for reassurance.

“There is clear evidence of a blackmail letter here. I do despise blackmail,” Holmes continued. “I see these pieces are not handwriting but letters of the alphabet cut out from newspaper headlines and presented as a message. In the corner here, the initials read E.S.”

I picked up another piece of the partly singed paper and looked upon it in wonder. I scratched my chin in thought. “I say, Holmes, this piece has the word ‘cliff’ on it. What do you suppose that could mean?”

Within moments, the piece of paper was no longer in my hand but was in his and he was peering at it intently. 

“Hmm.”

“Perhaps the blackmailer lives by the sea?” I questioned but neither Holmes nor Manders seemed to hear me.

“Oh, why didn’t A.J confide in me?” Manders’ muffled voice came from under his hands before he suddenly sat bolt upright and sat to attention. He took a deep breath. “Wait a minute, did you say E.S?”

“You know of an E.S?” I asked.

“Yes, Edward Salling. He was the man we…well, the man we visited two weeks ago.”

…

It was a most difficult business, for Manders’ guilt had caused us to tread very carefully in our investigations. He was sent fretting back to his residence at Mount Street whilst myself and Holmes headed to the home of Mr. Salling on the pretence of being there in relation to the stolen jewels that we deduced had been taken by Raffles. As we questioned Salling at the front door, I saw little in his demeanour to suggest he was hiding Raffles in the house. Holmes remarked on the same as we left, confident that whilst Salling remained a suspect in the kidnapping with ample motive, the answers to the questions did not seem to lie in that location.

We caught a hansom cab and hurried back to Baker Street. On the way I asked him his opinion on our recent client. At first, he gave me that look of why was I asking such an emotional question but then he answered, I think quite for my benefit, with a calm and almost unbelievably sympathetic voice. “He’s brave. Only someone with courage can risk it all, Watson.”

“Yes, he’s so unlike the criminal type one usually meets.”

“It’s hard to say what drives one to criminal activity, Watson. In this case, I’m certain he does it all for the love of the jewel thief. Manders is not the mastermind or the heart behind these society burglaries, he is the accomplice.”

“He seems an intelligent and likeable fellow,” I said.

“Indeed, intelligence maybe, Watson, and certainly a kindness such as you possess. I’d say he has little passion for the thrill of crime and is generally a most uneasy participant.”

“He’s not coerced surely?”

“No, no, I suspect that Manders was at first lured into the web of crime by some desperation on his part to which Raffles was the saviour. Since then I gather, he feels duty-bound to continue as a debt to his friend. But I also saw a spark of excitement in him, even in the depths of despair and anxiety which makes me doubt there is no thrill whatsoever.”

“Do you think, Holmes, that Manders does it because it simply makes him happy to make his friend happy?”

Holmes turned sharply and looked at me as though he hadn’t thought about it quite like that. “Good, Watson, a shrewd observation of his character. You could be right, it is quite clear Manders has a deep affection for this cricketer.”

I sighed. “Of course, it’s still very criminal.”

“Indeed, however we’re not investigating this case to be judge or jury of our client but merely to reach a factual conclusion. Perhaps you could be so kind to go to this address, Watson, whilst I fetch our anxious ‘Bunny’.” He handed me a slip of paper. “I’ve every reason to believe that there should be some information there for you regarding Raffles. Take a revolver for protection, it’s a rough sort of place, friend Watson.”

“I’ll be careful. But why this address, Holmes?”

“It’s a little-known hideout and location of some notorious criminals. Its likely Raffles has a fence in the area whom he seeks out when he comes into possession of valuable jewels. Try asking a few of the names on the list, someone may have some information but remember he will not be known by the name of Raffles so you may have to improvise. And see if you can find anybody by the name of Sutcliffe.”

“Sutcliffe, who on earth’s that?”

“I neglected to mention that back at Salling’s house there was a letter on the stand just inside the door. It was opened and I saw the contents. It was from the hand of a ‘Mr. Sutcliffe.’”

“I don’t follow.”

“The burnt note that had the word ‘cliff’, almost certainly the name of Salling’s acquaintance.”

“I see, well I shall do my best to investigate. And what are we going to fetch Manders for?”

“Just a friendly talk. I’ll send him a message and you can both come back here in due course.”

…

I was none the wiser as to why it was I and not Holmes being sent to the depths of the London criminal underworld but nonetheless that’s where I found myself half an hour later. I opened the piece of paper in my hand and inquired after Sutcliffe and to my surprise was immediately led to him. Of course, with my usually neat exterior, it did take for me to roughen myself up a bit as it were- to convince him- and I was a little disappointed that Holmes wasn’t witness to my adopted and rather improved working-class accent and manner. The man assumed I was another of their criminal type and I was led to a rather unsavoury character with shabby clothes and no teeth standing by a doorway to a small house. The man wouldn’t permit me to enter and so I spoke the only language men like this understood…money. I offered him a few coins and he let me inside.

From the moment I met Sutcliffe inside the damp and deserted residence, it was obvious he was doing his absolute best to get rid of me. There was a yellow tinge in his bloodshot eyes and I concluded he had not slept for days. Did that mean he was perhaps on guard? I inquired after Mr. Raffles, not using his name but suggesting there was a thief missing and I was after him to settle a debt. He shook me off aggressively, telling me to ‘get lost’ and leave before he set the man with no teeth upon me. There was a mad frenzy in the toothless man’s eyes that made me unwilling to stay and see if Sutcliffe was joshing or telling the truth! 

As I left the premises, angered that I’d not found a single morsel of information about Raffles and knew my friend would be disappointed, I glanced quickly at a little window below the shabby house. There were ten steps leading down to a dingy sort of basement flat and it was at the bottom of the steps that I caught sight of something shuffling by the window, behind some twitching old brown and battered curtains. I cautiously made my way over and glanced around before I peered inside the glass. I jumped back when I saw a man’s face staring back at me. He was cut and bruised and bleary-eyed but I recognised him from his photograph and the caricatures in the paper. It was A.J Raffles!

Trying to break into the door was unsuccessful and I found myself using my revolver to smash the window-pane whilst checking around me to make sure the coast was clear. I peered over the window-sill and into the room. The cricketing hero Raffles, who was tied to a chair, shimmied toward me and so I leaned in to remove his gag and bounds and release him from his captivity. I then helped him crawl through the now glass-free window, onto the ledge and down onto the steps for our escape. He stumbled up the stairs, panting and puffing. He could barely stand and was clearly sleep-deprived, hungry and injured. He nodded his gratitude as soon as we exited the deserted premises. 

“Did Bunny send you?” He was breathless.

“He came for our help if that’s what you mean.” I placed his arm around my shoulder, letting his weight rest upon me. “I’m Dr. Watson, here in assistance to Mr. Holmes.”

Raffles rubbed his tired eyes and then stopped. “Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yes. You’ve heard of him?”

“I have. I’ve admired his methods.”

“I suspect he’s admired yours too in some sense, even if it’s not quite our…arena.”

“Did Bunny come to see Mr. Holmes?”

I helped him to the pavement where we made our way quickly to the end of the street, out of the dark criminal depths and back into the light. I hailed a cab to take us back to safety. Raffles was alive at least, we had succeeded in our mission, maybe almost accidentally for I was sure Holmes had meant for me to simply ask questions and not find the missing cricketer myself. I was rather proud of myself though, I couldn’t deny it.

I smiled as I helped him into the cab and checked over his wounds. “You’ll live,” I told him, “and to answer your question, your friend did come to see us but he didn’t need to tell Holmes much at all. Your reputation as more than a cricketing star seems to be already known to him.”

He grinned. “Inspector Mackenzie paid him a visit?”

“Doesn’t need to. Holmes made it quite clear to your ‘Bunny’ that he has known this for quite some time. He says he could gather ample evidence if it was necessary.”

I saw a brief flicker of fear in his blood-shot eyes but then he leaned back in the cab and smiled again.

“You’re not taking this at all seriously, are you?” I asked.

“I never do, my old chap. Life’s no fun that way.”

“You were kidnapped, left for dead by the end. Is that exciting to you?”

He didn’t reply. 

I leaned in and whispered. “I don’t understand you. You’re the A.J Raffles, the famous cricketer. You have it all. Why is the call of crime so strong for you?”

He didn’t reply again. He had an air of utter audacity and yet I saw something in him that made him appealing to me somehow. I shuddered that I could feel such attraction to darkness.

“Is Bunny alright? I suppose he’s worried sick, felt he had no choice. Silly old Rabbit.”

“’Bunny’ is a nervous character but I suppose it makes sense, his closest companion vanishing without a trace.”

“Ah yes, well that I wish I could’ve spared him. I had no intention of not being able to get word to him but alas things were out of my control. Will you take me to see him, I’ve missed him.”

…

By the time we reached the comfort of 221b Baker Street, Raffles seemed curious. We stood outside the ajar door to the sitting room and could hear the voices of our companions from inside. I was about to enter when Raffles held my arm and silenced me. 

“Just a minute, doctor. I want to hear what they’re talking about.”

I obliged and we stood for several moments listening to their conversation.

“Would you kindly stop pacing Mr. Manders? Nothing will be achieved by my watching you sprint around the sitting room. It’s called a sitting room not a walking room.”

“I’m so worried about A.J!”

“Evidently.”

“Don’t you worry about your Dr. Watson? He’s your companion, it’s only natural to get edgy.”

In that moment, both Raffles and I leaned forward, peering through the door to finally get a picture of our friends to where I eagerly awaited the reaction.

“Of course, but he is quite capable. It’s best to relax. I have no reason to believe they’re in any danger.”

“How do you know?”

There was a smirk on Holmes’ lips. “Because they’re standing in the doorway eavesdropping on our conversation. Like what you hear, gentlemen?”

We bundled into the room apologising, and I was much embarrassed as I approached my companion. I pointed at Raffles. “Look who I found!”

I sat the injured Raffles onto the settee and watched as Manders fell to his knees at his companion’s side. It was as though all his prayers had been answered. The fact that they were criminals and that we knew of this didn’t seem to matter in those moments. They had found each other.

“Miss me did you, Bunny?” 

“Yes, oh yes, A.J, what did they do to you?” He touched Raffles’ cheek.

Realising Holmes and I were watching them keenly, Raffles straightened in his seat and smiled. “It’s not as bad as it looks, old chap. Really, I’m quite alright.”

As he moved though it was clear he was still in pain. I’d examined him myself but despite the cricketer’s cavalier attitude, he was still suffering.

“It’s alright Mr. Manders,” I said, “I examined your friend. He’s quite well.”

It was at that moment that the silent Holmes suddenly spoke. “I see my friend Watson was lucky to find you.” He gave me a look that a proud teacher might give a student. “Well done, Watson, you have exceeded my expectations.”

I took the compliment with pleasure.

“I’m very grateful,” Raffles said and he stood up and shook Holmes’ hand. “You’re the infamous Sherlock Holmes? Bunny and I often read Dr. Watson’s chronicles.”

“Am I, and do you?” Holmes lit his pipe. “And you’re, I’m told, a cricketer- the famous A.J Raffles. Known for his cricket, not so known for his…thievery.”

I watched Raffles closely. He was far too sly to let anything show and so simply flashed a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. An honour to have been a subject of one of your cases. Though I must say, I don’t think it was entirely necessary.”

Holmes chuckled. “I’ll admit your discovery was prompter than I imagined but you’re wrong it was unnecessary. Your friend was at a loss to your whereabouts and I doubt he should’ve known where to begin had he not been clever and brave enough to ask for our help. And just how were you going to get out of the situation yourself hmm?”

Raffles looked at his companion. There was sincerity there. “Yes, well, thank you, Bunny. I owe you a great deal of gratitude.”

“I would like to know your story now, Mr. Raffles. Watson was lucky to find you. Was I correct that Mr. E. Salling had blackmailed you, held some evidence over you for some crime and wanted money in exchange for his silence? Why did he take you, did you refuse to co-operate?” Holmes questioned.

With surprise, Raffles placed his arm around Holmes’ shoulder. Holmes tensed.

“And I shall be delighted to fill you in on the exploits of Mr. Salling but I’ve just spent a fortnight in near darkness, tied-up and bruised. I think a bit of food and drink may be nice.”

I sprung up from my seat. “I’ll tell Mrs. Hudson to rustle up something.”

I left the room and was followed by Manders who tapped me on the shoulder. 

“I’d like to help if I may.”

“If you like. We’ll fetch the food together. Save Mrs. Hudson carrying it into us.”

I led Manders to the kitchen and as soon as we entered, we saw Mrs. Hudson leaning over the sink, gloves in hand, scrubbing aggressively. “Blasted stains!”

I coughed to signal her attention and as soon as she saw me, she silently screamed, took off her gloves and tried to straighten herself out as best she could. 

“We’re after some tea…and well, something to eat, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Oh Dr. Watson, you quite startled me. Sit down, sit down, I’ll fetch you something right away. I had no idea you were back. Your friend can sit down too if you like.”

Manders smiled and took a seat opposite. We smiled awkwardly at one another whilst Mrs. Hudson darted about the kitchen with more energy than the four of us men put together.

“Does he ever tell me we’ve got guests? No, he doesn’t.” Mrs Hudson muttered under her breath. 

I smirked at Manders but he was looking down in contemplation. “I thought you’d be happier now that Raffles has been found safe,” I said.

“I am, oh I am, Dr. Watson. You have to understand that I was desperate in coming here.”

“Mr. Holmes quite clearly stated that he is not the judge nor jury but simply here to solve this case.”

“Which he has…but now what?”

“I don’t know.”

“I said I accept all responsibility for my actions.”

“But does your Mr. Raffles?”

…

Manders agreed to wait for the tea and bring it to us in due course. I agreed mainly because I was unbelievably curious as to what Holmes and Raffles would be talking about in my absence. When I entered the room, Raffles was bent over the workbench, eyeing the test tubes and beakers containing one of Holmes’ many science experiments. Holmes was behind him, chuckling away at something Raffles had said and they seemed to be conversing quite cheerily. 

“It’s almost as beautiful as a box of jewels,” Raffles said.

Holmes placed his index finger on his chin. “My experiments are worth more to me than riches.”

“The ‘riches’ as you call them are only the necessity of life. It’s the thrill of the chase, the skill, the mastery. Bunny and I get more from the doing of it than for the simple rewards as pleasurable as those rewards may be.”

“Indeed.”

I watched then as Holmes circled Raffles twice, examining him. He was curious by him and I myself was fascinated by the nature and audacity of the gentleman who stood before us with so much gall. We knew he was guilty of his crimes, he knew we knew of his guilt. He was aware Scotland Yard knew of his guilt and yet he stood tall and proud, undeterred by such pressures. He was admired and loved by many and he felt he was untouchable. I found myself strangely perplexed. I admit I had followed his cricket career keenly and admired his sporting prowess and he was difficult to dislike. He was a handsome man with thick wavy black hair and a voice so suave and confident that he easily swayed us to his will. Was he an excellent manipulator? Maybe so. Holmes knew this and was interested in him for his skills as a cracksman. Raffles had not the darkness of a Moriarty or the cruelty of Sebastian Moran but he was far from perfect. Was I too caught in his glittering web? Spun into it. He was a dazzling spider and we the flies.

Manders returned promptly carrying a tray of tea and cakes and some of Mrs. Hudson’s sumptuous sugar biscuits that she reserved for guests with what she called ‘pleasant character.’ He set the tray down and sat next to Raffles who was now seated on the settee, leaning back with his legs crossed. 

“Offer Manders a biscuit would you, Watson? I know he has a sweet tooth,” Holmes said.

I reached for the plate and held it in front of our guest. He grabbed one and nibbled on it. Raffles also took one. A moment later, Manders dropped the biscuit in surprise. “How on earth did you know I have a sweet tooth?”

From the corner of my eye I spied Raffles smirking. I suspected he was in as much awe at Holmes as the other way around.

“Well you see, Mr. Manders, you stopped off at the bakery after your trip to the Turkish baths, did you not?”

“How could you possibly know that?”

Holmes smiled. “I observed earlier that you had a sugar residue on your forefinger and a dusting of crumbs on your lapel. When you removed the photograph you carried of Mr. Raffles to show me, you also removed a torn piece of paper bag along with it. The colouring of the bag is that of ‘Carter’s Bakery’ in Sloane Square.’”

Raffles looked affectionately at his companion. “Bunny’s favourite place to visit.”

“We all have our temptations,” Holmes replied, looking at the jewel thief, “speaking of which, we found you, fed you and have had quite a charming discussion. Now in return I ask for an explanation from you Mr. Raffles. I completed my end of the bargain. Manders and Watson also completed their important roles but you have yet to tell us of the events that transpired.”

Raffles sighed. Under the interrogation of Holmes and myself he knew there was little he could do but cooperate.

“I should’ve thought you wouldn’t need my account.”

“If you could tell us please, Mr. Raffles.”

“Alright. Well it started on the morning of my disappearance. I awoke to find the morning post arriving with Bunny. Bunny was in a cheery mood so when I opened the letter from Salling, I tried not to let on what it contained.”

“And what was that?” Holmes asked.

“A blackmail letter.”

“The one you found in the fire,” Manders added.

“Yes, it was a threatening letter telling me to give him back his property or suffer the consequences. He said something about a meeting with a brute named Sutcliffe. I didn’t want to alarm Bunny but I casually asked him if he received any post that morning to which he replied no. I ignored the letter and instead decided to take my friend for a big feast. I pretended nothing was amiss and as Bunny went back to Mount Street to get dressed, I decided to take a walk to the restaurant and think about what was to be done. My route however meant I walked right into the trap. I was snatched off the road by a toothless ruffian on instruction from Salling. They tortured me at first. But soon even Salling grew bored at my reluctance to give in. Sutcliffe was the real villain. I saw a glimmer of joy in his eyes whenever he used violence that told me he was some sort of sadist. I was left then in a room, briefly fed each day but it was a good job Dr. Watson came along when he did.”

Holmes nodded, taking in the information as Raffles finished sharing his story. The case of the missing cricketer was solved and I got the feeling Raffles would rather forget the whole incident. He didn’t seem to enjoy people getting the better of him and on this occasion, it took two detectives and his friend to save him. 

Raffles and Manders shook our hands and then we watched as they left the premises and hailed a cab outside as the once blue sky was now tinged with grey. I stayed silent for a few moments as I pondered on Holmes’ decision to let them leave unchallenged. 

I watched the two men, arm in arm, and saw myself and Holmes in their manner. They were really not so different to us except they had travelled down a more dangerous path. 

Noticing my contemplation, Holmes joined me by the window and rested his hand on my shoulder. I smiled. 

“Are you alright, my dear Watson?”

“What chance is there for those two? I don’t exactly want them sent to prison, Holmes, but what about their crimes?”

“I solved the case at hand and do detest blackmail and kidnap, Watson. Scotland Yard however is very welcome to seal the evidence required to convict Raffles in the future. I have no interest in pursuing it further.”

“But it does make you wonder.”

“Let them have their time in the sun, Watson. The sun will set soon as it inevitably does for the life of the criminal. Let them bathe in the sunlight a little longer for I fear only darkness can follow.”

I shuddered, wondering what could become of our two clients, A.J Raffles, the cricketing jewel thief and his accomplice the innocent faced Bunny Manders. Why did it lay heavy on my mind for quite some time? 

Holmes patted my arm and gestured to the table. “Come, friend Watson, there is more than enough food here for a well-deserved feast.”


End file.
